


greek love (also known as "and we shan't ever be parted nevermore")

by JadeLupine



Series: some have suffered more but none have loved as much as we [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Anal Sex, Angst, Canon Compliant, Hurt/Comfort, Kissing, M/M, Oral Sex, Romance, friends-to-lovers, set in PoA but a lot of it is in flashback to their relationship overall tbh, theres a prostitute somewhere
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-30
Updated: 2015-10-30
Packaged: 2018-04-28 22:53:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,112
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5108573
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JadeLupine/pseuds/JadeLupine
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>/define greek love: refers to various (mostly homoerotic) practices between two males in eros, the ancient greek for sexual love/<br/><br/>Remus remembes that Sirius’ voice was shaky and threaded. How he put out his long arms and clasped Remus to him and the other bent willingly, resting a head on his shoulder. “I love you too, you blimmin’ romantic. I swear that.”<br/>He pauses.<br/>“And we shan’t ever be parted nevermore.”</p><p> </p><p>But now they are, and have been so for twelve long years.</p>
            </blockquote>





	greek love (also known as "and we shan't ever be parted nevermore")

**Author's Note:**

> woop gay ass married dads are in love. warning: a bit of cussing, and quite a bit of sex. plus sad.

In his heart of hearts, he knows he should be grateful. Grateful for the teaching job and the “hey Professor,” greetings tossed casually in the halls, for the softness of the Hogwarts bed, the familiar cracks in the stone and for the chance to circle students misspelling of Kappas. But there is some guilty part of him, the cordoned off section of his heart that made him a coward and a people-pleaser that wishes so much that Harry’s greeting could have been more than a casual “hey Professor.” That he could have raised him from the chubby infant with sticky fists into this boy with hollow cheeks and startling eyes.

But thinking of what could have been involves thinking of whom he could have loved – so for that selfish desire, he pushes the thought from his head and returns the greeting – “Good morning, Harry.”

“Professor Lupin, what about the werewolf essay? It’s not really up to standard, but then we only had _one_ class and it’s not fair, but I tried reading up.” Hermione had stayed back in class, her hair rising up as if gravity acted on her prim skirt and downturned collar but not on the frizzy brown locks. Remus sighed inwardly and held out his hand. He was usually extremely pleased to read Hermione’s work: they were of the highest quality and didn’t merely have paragraphs copied direct from books (Seamus), translated weakly (Harry), or just utter bullshit (Ron). The girl displayed sensitivity, individuality and perception odd in a thirteen year old, and Remus appreciated that. Just not when the essay was about werewolves.

“Thank you for your prompt submission, Hermione. I’ll be sure to mark it and leave it in the nook.” Remus looked at the pages in her cramped writing, and remembered his own thirteen year old self’s homework, and how Si - .  He stops thinking and smiles reassuringly at the girl. “Don’t worry about the standard, Hermione, I’m quite sure this topic will be the last covered. Don’t worry about werewolves.”

She looked at him oddly for a second, an almost pitying but yet humorous glance.

Damn, he thinks as she leaves, her satchel weighing down one shoulder, this one knows all too well. Smart, he considers, it’s no wonder that the smartest girl in the junior years would immediately clock on. But then again, so did James and Peter. And that other one. And they were probably the dimmest people he knew, for all their marks and memory.

-

_“Lupin, how does it feel to turn into a wolf?” Sirius asked eagerly as Remus came in, his eyes widening in glee and his black hair stroking his forehead like the shadows of fingers. It was second year and they were thirteen._

_“What!” Remus dropped his books on the floor, his bottle of ink rolling and breaking under James bed. The poor boy would find bright blue socks in there for the next few years. “S-Sirius, I-I c –“_

_“When they gave out subtlety up in Heaven, Sirius,” James sighed, looking at the way Remus’ fingers shook. “they missed you out entirely. Alongside with tact, reasonableness, and a sense of propriety.”_

_“I –“ Remus murmured, his pale face now almost translucent. “I didn’t –“_

_“It’s all right, Remus.” Peter said pleasantly from the corner, his blonde hair sticking up. “I think it’s really sort of cool you can do that. Does it hurt?”_

_“Of course it hurts, you dim tube.” Sirius snapped, rising up effortlessly and going over to the frozen Remus. “I was just bluffing about asking you how it feels, Rem. I’m sorry.”_

_“What?” Remus sputtered. “What the hell are you saying – you just found –“_

_“Seize the day boys,” James snorted, examining his glasses and wondering if he should risk putting it back together with magic. He continued, in the accent that would have gained him a place at Eton and then Cambridge if he hadn’t been a wizard. “Remus swore. Don’t worry mate. We don’t care much, just a bit miffed you didn’t tell us anything, really.”_

_Could this be? Could this be a moment in his own life? Where he had anticipated pain and did not receive it?_

_“Well…” he said tentatively. “What would I have said? Nice to meet you, I’m a werewolf, hey what’re you getting from the trolley – I’d fancy a frog.”_

_“Bastard. No wonder the frogs always run off from your stupid wolf fingers. Natural selection, it’s called.” Sirius grinned, and hung his arm around Remus, leaning his head on his shoulder casually._

-

Remus wonders, as he heads to the Quidditch pitch with McGonagall, whether it was possible to delete a single person from your memory. It would look odd, he decides as the dew wets his shoes and pierces into his toes, making him shiver; just a black hole where Sirius had been in those childhood romps. He shivers again, but it is no longer because of the cold. He looked at McGonagall who was staring at the positioning plan for the teams, perhaps willing one of the Slytherin players to drop dead. McGonagall, with her deep lines and beady eyes had the Scots enthusiasm for sport, Remus could tell by the whitening clench of her fingers and the glint of her spectacles. He never liked Quidditch much really, especially not when it rained, and _especially_ not when it was November and merely a practice instead of real games – but Harry was practicing today, and Remus didn’t want to miss the boy’s natural agility on the broom.

“How is Harry as a player, Professor?” He asked McGonagall, as they ascended up to the Teacher’s Box.

“Brilliant, really.” McGonagall actually smiled, and it was anything but grim. “Follows his father, that boy – the natural ability in the air and his handling of the broom. Does things on the broom that seventh years find alarming, let alone thirteen year olds.”

“I see.” Remus didn’t really understand any uses or tricks for a broom other than to fly up, down, left, and right, but he decided that McGonagall was probably the last person he would tell this to, as he followed her into the seats. Balls, he thinks, as he realizes he was sitting next to Snape.

“Why are you here?” He tries to maintain civility. “Watching the Slytherins, are you?”

“Yes. I’m assessing whether the team would suffer without Malfoy.” Snape said curtly. “They may decide to postpone the match, however.”

“Ah.” Remus felt a smile rising within him. “I understand. Should’ve known it was some cowardly motive that brings the bat from it’s cave.”

“Should have been a sentimental one that brought the wolf from it’s pen.” Snape hissed maliciously. “Wanted to see if the boy compares to his father, didn’t you?”

He ignores Snape, and looks straight ahead. He realizes it was a bad idea coming out here, firstly because he knows nothing about Quidditch or the complicated moves it entailed. Secondly, because being in close proximity to Snape made him wish to strangle someone. And thirdly, because whilst Harry’s swift turns and alley-oops made him think of James, he understands that perhaps it isn’t good to run around searching for heartache in this manner. Because there was always another Chaser behind James, Sirius who wasn’t the best or most talented player, but who garnered the most cheer from every side of the audience. Sirius who would fly up to the audience with his hair falling in his face and Sirius who would laugh the loudest after a match, because unlike James who moped if he lost – Sirius only cared about the heat of the moment. Remus’s face is stark and his eyes are deep and dark, cavernous in his paper-white, blank face.

“Good playing, Severus. The Slytherin team could make the newspaper.” He muttered venomously as he looked straight ahead. He needs to redeem himself, and being rude to Snape is the only way he knows how. “I mean, of course, the Quibbler.”

“Speaking of newspapers, Lupin – have you heard that Black was spotted only a few towns from here?” Snape asked smoothly, watching the momentary convulsing of Remus’s hands.

“That’s excellent.” Remus grinned, ghastly through gritted teeth, almost a grimace. “You’re beginning to read. I am _so_ proud.”

-

_“Nice to see you, swot.” Sirius was sprawled on the sofa in the common room, a magazine in his hands. “How many bloody classes do you need to go to anyway?”_

_“It’s OWL year, Sirius.” Remus yawned and collapsed onto the same sofa, as he pushed together Sirius’s legs and lay his head on them. “I need to keep up with the syllabus.”_

_“Yeah, the syllabus for twelve subjects unlike the eight you’re supposed to have, bastard. And I’m not a pillow, am I?” Sirius made no move to remove the tosser from his lap, however, and instead watched the slight swell of his closed eyelids and the bow of his lips. “No wonder you’re so bleeding tired, what with running around hairy for a night every month and working yourself to the bone every other day.”_

_“Hm –“ Remus murmured, his hair strewn all over Sirius’ lap. He felt like gathering it up and tying it, or maybe just combing it with his fingers. He shivers at the thought._

_“Who’re you going with for the Christmas Ball shit?” He asked conversationally, and wonders who Remus had his eye on. Possibly a Ravenclaw, knowing him. “James is out there in the gardens right now trying to propose to Lily. Plus, he bribed Peter to keep watch for him, so I think he’s planning something bloody stupid by the looks of it.”_

_“I’m not really going with anyone.” Remus breathed in, his eyes still closed. “Not found anyone to go with.”_

_“Oh, come on, you’ve got to be lusting after someone, don’t you?” Sirius teased, and this time he put his fingers into Remus’ hair, scrubbing it affectionately. “Tell me, idiot, I know you’re not James who told Sir fucking Cadogan he was going to marry Lily, but come on.”_

_“Honest, Sirius. I have no girl I am ‘lusting after’, as you eloquently put it.” Remus grinned. “Come to think of it – eloquence should be added to James’ List of Things the Lord forgot to Give Sirius. Who’re you going with then? Andrea Prudence? She’s got the… figure you jabber on about.”_

_“With a name like Prudence, my dick would shrivel no matter what fucking cup size she was. Nah, I’m not going with anyone. Don’t like anyone, really.” Sirius trailed off. His hand was still in Remus’ hair and the werewolf’s eyes were still closed. He moved his hand downwards – oh Remus’ hair was like a girl’s, soft and smooth and brown, that he continued stroking – and he knows Remus felt it too, that he was not asleep although his eyelashes touched his cheeks._

_“Curses!” James flew in at the portrait hole, grinning and gesticulating exaggeratedly, Peter at his heels. There was a bright red welt on his cheek and his hair was mussed, but he was still in good cheer, his glasses fogging. “Foiled again!”_

_“I’ll bet my entire fucking fortune that what’s on your cheek is not a love mark.” Sirius snorted. His hand was frozen in Remus’ hair, but James threw it a cursory glance and didn’t seem to care. After all, their friendship was close, close, close – that hands in hair were simply boyish antics, comforting gestures maybe._

_“No, she hexed him.” Peter laughed, putting away the burnt remnants of firecrackers. “Then she went and told McGonagall.”_

_“Shut up Pete. No, I’m going to tell everyone it’s a love bite, she’s got to get with me out of humiliation at least.” James crowed, sitting back on a plush armchair. “See about that rumour for me, won’t you, Padfoot?”_

_“You mental bastards,” Remus drawled groggily. “You spread that rumour and she’s going to hex you bald. What can you do then, tell everyone she bit each hair off individually to show her devotion?”_

_They laughed, and Sirius returned to stroking Remus’ hair even as the common room filled up. Something flared in him that day, an emphasis of what he has known for so long – but he bites his lip and swears never to say it. But they sit like that so often that it becomes regular – Remus laying on the sofa, his head in Sirius’ lap, and Sirius stroking his hair. The movements become homely, ingrained into long fingers and weary bones until James begins to call them a married couple and the sofa is reserved for them._

_-_

“Remus, Remus – wake up.” There was a sharp rapping on the wooden door to his office, as Remus woke with a gasp. He checked to see if he was decent before calling out.

“Who is it?” he asked putting on a shirt and shoving his wand into his pocket. “It’s two in the morning.”

“It’s Minerva, Remus, now _open the door_.”

“What?” he asked, uncouth in his waking state. He frowned at the paleness of her cheeks and the grim set of her mouth and something settles very painfully in his chest. “Ha-Has someone been taken ill?”

“Black has been spotted in the castle. Tried to get into the Gryffindor common room by force – he seems to have a knife.” McGonagall’s breath heaved, and she looked up again. “Dumbledore had sent Severus to wake you – to patrol the Great Hall where the students have been evacuated to, but I thought I’d do it myself.”

“Oh.” he says blandly. “All right. I’ll go to the Hall. You get some rest Professor, thank you for coming here to wake me.”

He walks to the Great Hall and tells himself – not now. not now. You cannot think at all now. Perhaps later, when you are alone. Blank it out – and pretend there has been nothing. He breathes in deeply as he walks into the Hall, the only sounds in the room the snoring of the children and the rustling of sleeping bags, hundreds of kids in squashy purple sleeping bags. Remus wants to laugh but it catches in his throat. He spotted Harry’s dark head and his closed eyes, and it hits him again: the possibility of seeing the child sleep daily, to eat meals with him and bandage his skinned knees.

“Nice to see you out, Lupin.” An entirely more unwholesome sight, Severus Snape in a dressing gown, loomed before him. “Has the moon retired beneath the clouds?”

“I wouldn’t know. You would though, wouldn’t you? Bats are nocturnal creatures, hunting innocent mice under the darkness.” Remus strained to keep his voice low and even. He wants to slam something against the wall and choke it to death, he wants to rip Sirius from limb to limb. He settles again, on being cruel to Snape. “Have you told your fellow _Death Eater_ that Harry is here, huh? Is that why –“

He feels vindictive and vicious, arguing in whispers is such an _adult_ thing to do.

“Well, _Lupin_.” Snape’s eyes glittered and widened in his narrow face. “Why the long face? You should be happy, shouldn’t you… now that the prodigal lover has returned to visit his own?”

“Don’t you _dare_ –“ Remus hissed, waxing dangerous like the moon itself. He pulled out his wand and pressed it to the hollow in Snape’s thin throat, pushing hard so that it would leave a mark. Oh, it has been twelve years, twelve years, twelve long and aching years since anyone referred to Sirius as his lover and hearing the words aloud makes his fingers twitch and his eyes spark. The word has pride in it – it has love in it, it has everything he has associated with Sirius and he _will not_ have Snape say it. But he lowers his wand, and presses the smile back on his face although it feels like it would come peeling off.

“Please, Severus.” He tries to keep the desperation out of his voice. “Go rest.”

The black cloak billows around the doorframe and Remus turns to the motionless sleeping bags. He closes his eyes, in the middle of that room – and sinks to his knees, into a sitting position. Sirius is here, in this building – Sirius is here, with his hard lips and his glittering teeth, with his body like a taut bowstring and with his inordinately large hands. Here. His lover is here. Sirius Black is here – the man he has loved so much and for so long, the man who was Remus himself, who was in every breath and every sigh and in everything he did. Sirius whose heartbeat he heard every day, who fucked him into the table and who kissed him longingly afterward. Sirius who was the sun, his face white and beautiful, he was here. He was here, and Remus hated himself for not letting anger course through his veins.

-

_“Truth, guys. I choose Truth. Ask me who I like, it’s Evans here.” James grinned at Lily – it was the end of sixth year, they were seventeen and drunk in the Gryffindor common room, an empty bottle of Firewhisky swirling sadly between them._

_“Shit, mate – as if we’d ask you something bloody ludicrous like that.” Sirius looked wild and beautiful, his hair over his face. “Okay. Listen carefully. On a desert island lay three nude beauties – one is McGonagall, one is Dumbledore in all his withered glory, and the third is that droopy little Trelawney from the year above. You gotta shag one, marry one, and kill the other. Choose.”_

_Lily, Remus, and Alice collapsed into laughter, leaning against the back of sofas and chairs as they watched James face redden, then turn purple, the implications of the choice weighing on him._

_“Er…” he stuttered, at a loss for words for one of the very few times of his life. “Er… I’d kill Trelawney, she’s too wet for hell.”_

_“There’s nothing wrong with Trelawney, really!” Peter piped up, his cheeks flushed with drink. “She’s just shy, you know.”_

_“Well you have her then.” James snorted. “Okay, now – I’d shag McGonagall. Because it’s ONCE damn it, you arseholes, I have to soap my eyes. Then, I’d marry Dumbledore and we’d live in a happy, sexless partnership.”_

_“Not blimmin’ likely, friend – but spin the bottle. I’m hankerin’ for some truths out of you sneaky bastards.” Sirius’ eyes flared as he rolled the bottle to James. He picked it up and spun it around, the glass making a creaking, marbled sound as it spun on the floor – and landed wavering, pointing right in the middle of Sirius’ outstretched legs._

_“Ha, let’s see how well you tell the truth then.” Remus grinned, his eyes flashing, and he cracked his fingers, taking a long swig of Firewhisky. “I’ve got a good choice of…naked beauties for you.”_

_“Dare.” Sirius looked them all square in the eye. “Dare me.”_

_“Right, we’ll do something tame.” James called out loud before any of the others would suggest something involving nudity, the public, and possibly drastic punishment. “Tame…first. We don’t need Sirius baring his all infront of the first years or anything else you depraved lot may give out. Okay. Sirius –“_

_“Kiss someone!” Alice called out, flushing. “Kiss the person you think is the most beautiful in the room.”_

_“Okay, then…” James looked disappointed. “There are seven girls here, EXCLUDING Evans, because mate if you even –“_

_“You can kiss who you like, Sirius.” Lily called out, sipping more whisky from a glass. “Don’t listen to Potter.”_

_“Sirius, I’m warning you –“ James threatened._

_“Hey, I’m not bad looking,” Vittoria Renner pouted, adjusting her breasts in her shirt – spectacularly drunk and forgetting the last time Sirius dipped her blonde ponytail in permanent ink, only focusing on how handsome he looked in the firelight. “You can kiss me if you want, Black.”_

_“No…” Sirius looked around the room – eight girls in varying states of attractiveness from Vittoria down to Alice. No, he thinks, and whatever had flared in him last year fires up in his belly again – drawing his feet to circle the group, and dropping to his knees. He grabs Remus’ face in his hands, he looks so angelic, so surprised and his eyes were so wide that it physically pained Sirius. This is how we are supposed to be, he tries to tell Remus with his eyes, this is what we are – you and I and I and you. Then he kisses him. And perhaps there was someone up there who forgot to endow him with eloquence and tact and premonition but there was someone up there who listened to Sirius, because Remus was kissing him back, subtly but longingly, sadly – as if he had wanted to do this for a terribly long time._

_James lets out a surprised whoop and Sirius lets go of Remus’s face. He spins around, he cannot look at Remus’ blush or he would become undeniably aroused, and that wouldn’t do – no, his friends thought the kiss was a joke. He grinned at Vittoria pouting angrily, at Lily and Frank hooting in laugher and at James’ relieved face. He doesn’t look at Remus._

_He does later, though – when everyone else has drunkenly stumbled up to bed and they’re left clearing everything up. He looks at Remus through the side of his eye and finds that he has a face like thunder, his lips drawn downward and his eyes heavy lidded as he mopped up some spilled crackers._

_“Hey.” Sirius murmurs – abashed. He has always found Remus the only person he would ever like to apologize to. “Hey. I’m sorry, mate. For springing at you back there. Just – I mean, didn’t thought you’d mind. I mean, fuck, you can call me a ponce or whatever, just – take it easy yeah?”_

_Something flies past him and he sees that it’s the glass Remus was holding._

_“I am no joke.” Remus growled, and his hands shook. “My feelings, how I – Fuck it, Sirius, everything I am, what I’ve –“_

_Sirius drew up closer to Remus, touched his face again. He realizes then, in Remus’ tortured face that he wasn’t the only gay one in the room, that perhaps Remus has loved him for longer than he has loved Remus. He strokes the bridge of his nose and the strong lines of his jaw and he wishes that he could kiss him again._

_“Why are you giving me hope like this?” Remus begs, his voice ragged. “Just fucking hit me, fucking laugh at me. Call me a homo, ask your dorm to be shifted. What is this, Sirius? Why are you giving me hope and taking it away?”_

_“Idiot.” Sirius murmurs. “Bugger. You are hope.”_

_He doesn’t kiss him again but embraces him, their bodies fitting into each other like hands, Remus’ head on Sirius’ shoulder, the firelight dying until they stand in the dark. They kiss again like this, and again, like they have wanted to for a year, for more, and Sirius leads Remus to the sofa where they would sit before, and lay on it together. They are clasped in each others arms, and Sirius feels Remus fall asleep on his chest, and he is inexorably delirious._

_-_

“All right, Harry, that’s enough with the Patronus for today, don’t you think?” Remus yawned, and pulled Harry upwards, wincing as the boy stumbled. “Now, you don’t hear James anymore, do you?”

“Not really.” Harry shrugged, typical teenage insolence making his feet tap on the floor. “I mean, it’s all muffled now. Can’t make anything out.”

“Right, well, that’s good.” Remus smiled, and broke off a hunk of chocolate to give to Harry. “Eat this here, and then you’ll be off to bed.”

“Never thought I’d say this,” Harry chewed thoughtfully, “but I’m really rather sick of chocolate. Have you ever considered giving me any other sort of candy?”

“Well,” Remus smiled at Harry’s unabashed asking for sweets, much like his father. “Then your Boggart would probably shift from a Dementor to one of those vomit flavoured ones. Now get yourself to bed, Professor McGonagall is already very close to choking me for keeping you up these days.”

“Sure, but at least I can tell Filch I was with a teacher –“ Harry hesitated, nibbled the last bit of chocolate from his thumb. “Professor, remember a few months ago you said you knew Dad? Can you – can you tell me a bit about him at school?”

He could tell that Harry had wondered long and hard about asking this question, not because he was shy but because he wondered how Remus would take it. There was that glimmer of Lily, he thinks, that heart of kindness in between the boyish actions and the sports stardom. And how would he talk of James? How would he accurately describe James’ wit, his jokes and his cleverness, his swift turns on the broom and the numerous pranks he induced them to play? How can he tell Harry about the time James set an actual bear loose in the Great Hall, how he unscrewed the Chandelier when the Minister of Magic visited, how he painted Lily’s hair green as she sat at the desk in front of him? And how – oh lord, how on earth can he tell Harry about the depth of James’ kindness, how he would be the first to comfort and to smile, how he would patch up Remus’ scars (even though it looked worse after he was done), and how happy he was, how well he had taken it when he found out that his best friends were lovers? He fixes a smile.

“He was a good friend,” Remus says, lamely. “Brilliant at most things, and probably the best person to have a laugh with.”

He can’t say how close they all were – to say so would break him.

“Is he… anything like me?”

“In looks and in talent, yes, Harry. But in other things – you’re your mother.” His fingers grasp the table, white half moons on his nails. He knows the next question.

“What about Sirius Black?” he asks nervously, and Remus wants to hold that boy and tell him that he was safe and that he was protected. But he cannot trust himself to speak – so he simply smiles wanly and ushers Harry out of the room. The boy would think that he was unapproachable, that he was a total reclusive bastard but how could Remus build a relationship that had not existed for the past twelve years? How could he tell Harry of the times he had run around the house with him on his shoulders and how he and Sirius would roll dice to see who changed the nappy, and how could he tell Harry of the time he shat himself on Sirius’s lap and made the grown man scream? So let it be – Remus thinks viciously, and slams his fists on the desk uncharacteristically. He fixes the smile on his face again. Let it bloody well be.

‘And we shan’t ever be parted’, runs through Remus’ mind suddenly, and he shivers.

-

_“Touch me.” Remus whispers into Sirius’s ear as they lay tangled on his bed, the curtains drawn around them. “Have me.”_

_Sirius looks at Remus, and bends ever so close that their noses touch._

_“I love you, Re. More than the whole bloody world.” He kisses him, and feels that they shall never be parted. Remus is hard, achingly so – and Sirius flows downward to lap at his navel, down the fine trail of hair to a loosened belt buckle. He tugs down Remus’ pants and discards them, they fall with a chink, and takes him whole into his mouth. Sirius gropes at his own cock, stroking it with his fist – and Remus’s head is arched and there is a hollow in his throat where beads of sweat elope to. Sirius raises his head, his lips are reddened, swollen- he looks like a Greek statue. But this is Greek love, Remus thinks as he reaches up to pull Sirius down, this is the love that the Greeks shared long ago, man to man. Eros, he thinks, oh Eros – as Sirius kisses him, he is transported to millennia ago, they are Greeks and this is their love. Sirius’s cock angrily presses against Remus’ thigh, leaking precome, and Remus murmurs._

_“Take me.” he breathes. “Take me apart.”_

_“Do you mean… do you mean –“ Sirius stutters, his hand pausing on his member. “Oh, Remus – are you sure?”_

_“We’re eighteen, bastard, we’re going to graduate in a few months – if not now then when?” Remus moans as Sirius places teeth on his pale throat. “If not here then where?”_

_“Bloody eloquent, huh?” Sirius gasps, finding a bottle of lube in his drawer. He coats it on his finger and presses it to Remus’ entrance – it is slick and hot and inviting, and oh lord, he is so tight. He opens him slowly, finger by finger, and watches the sweat curl down Remus’ temples, his neck pale and his nipples hard. Sirius reaches his other hand up to pull on one, and Remus is breathing heavily, his cock curved up to his stomach._

_“Sirius, I think I’m ready – oh please, you –“_

_Sirius gets on his knees._

_“Do you want to turn over?” he asks, and hopes for a negative answer. “I can do that too.”_

_“No, please.” Remus begs. “Look at me.”_

_So Sirius looks at Remus as he pushes slowly inward, looks at how the pain and the glory spreads over his face like milk in tea. He watches as Remus’ hips buck upwards, and how his own cock is going to reach it’s limit, he is so close. Remus is filled, he is delighted and he is in pain, and he wants to stay in this moment forever, in Greece, thousands of years ago when you can fuck your best friend and you can love him more than anything in the whole world. And then Remus feels Sirius thrust particularly hard, and something bends in him and he comes spectacularly over his own stomach and chest – and Sirius moans raggedly as he follows, releasing wet and hot inside him._

_“I love you like the Greeks.” Remus says feverishly. “Love you like Achilles and Patroculus.”_

_“What’re you on about?” Sirius asks, his eyes closing as he lay beside Remus. “Isn’t that the bugger with the heel? Whatever, mate, I’m knackered. That was great. You’re great.”_

_-_

Remus does not know what came over him in the heat of that moment, he knows he has the Marauders Map in his hands, and his fingers are trembling and numb and Snape is so cruel and Harry is just like James and oh God, this night and this life was too much for him. He remembers being cutting to Snape for that was all he knew how to do, and he understands guiltily that he had asked Harry to follow him. He feels anger burbling in him at the boy’s recklessness and thinks, oh I am so old, this would have been hilarious to us. So he scolds Harry like a father would, calm and white with anger, and he yearns secretly to do this for life. He watches the cockiness slide out of the boy’s face and he’s pleased, not in a mean way like Severus would have been but pleased like a father is pleased that his child listens to him. Oh, so many yearnings. He takes the map into his room and smiles at it, gleeful – he feels ten years younger.

“I solemnly swear I am up to no good.”

The map opens up, scrawling inky, faded words and moving bubbles of darkness, curving paths through corridors. He smiles as he watches the map, fondly at the seventh years exchanging dormitories between boys and girls, at how Harry and Ron were probably trudging guiltily to the common room, at Dumbledore pacing at his office and pausing at the table Remus knew held gumdrops. He knows how many hours of work and magic went into this map and he presses it to his face, breathes in the scent of old parchment. He looks for his own name, and sees it in the Defense teacher’s office – and outside his window is a dot named Sirius Black. He closes the map, the air is dark and cold and there is something breaking within Remus that will never, ever be fixed, shards of glass sticking to every bit of his insides. He rises slowly, his hands shuddering – and goes to the window, and there he stands, two stories below, his Padfoot, the big black dog.

“Sirius –“ he murmurs through numb lips. He had his wand and he could point it at the dogs chest, two words and it would drop dead and nobody would cry for it except perhaps Hagrid in pity. But he watches, his face icy and white and the world closing in on him, the air heavy and un-breathable and Sirius shifts from dog to man before his very eyes. He is skeletal and bent slightly, but his eyes are deep and longing, he looks like a Greek statue after millennia had passed. He smiles wanly up at Remus, kisses his dirty, skeletal fingers and throws his hand upward in a universal gesture. Then he turns back into a dog and scrams into the forest, a cat close on his heels.

Typical Sirius, Remus snorts, still rooted to the floor – typical bloody Sirius. He doesn’t chase the cat but the cat chases him. He laughs for a minute over this, his stomach hurting, but then the anticipated tears start and he has to grope his way to the desk and collapse in his chair. He begins to cry wholly, his shoulders shuddering, eyes stinging, nose running, a low keening noise filling the room – he has held back so much for so long, and this was not fair. Oh, he thinks back to that first kiss – Sirius was not supposed to give him _hope_ like this, his heart hurt, and his throat hurt, there was hope and sadness welling up in him insatiably as he wept into his hand, elbows on the table, squashing the Map into the corner where it hung droopily.

“Lupin, I will not excuse this favoritism –“ Snape stormed into the room, throwing the door open with a bang, but Remus was past caring – all he could see was the ghostly Sirius, his Greek lover, his Patroculus. He continues to shudder slightly, the tears still coming although he kept swiping his cuff across his face – this was humiliating, this was so damn ugly that _Snape_ of all people had to encroach upon him so.

“I –“ Snape falters. He believes that Lupin had been crying over the Map. “I understand your unforgivable behaviour, however.”

Snape walks forward and grips his shoulder like a spasm had come across him, and then promptly lets go of him.

“I apologize for summoning you – of all people, I – should have been tactful - “ he stumbles over his words and he is out of the room. He would make up for this moment of weakness tomorrow with a new nasty rumour about Lupin, perhaps that he was secretly married to Madame Rosmerta, or that he had never once cut his toenails or something equally as disgusting. He may even consider reverting to childishness and writing Lupin a hate-note, or perhaps put laxative potions in his drink. But for tonight, he tells himself – for tonight, he would leave him.  

Later, when Remus is alone, he looks at his hands.  Takes out parchment and quill.

“I have given you everything,” he writes. “And I would have given you my whole life. But you have given me nothing at all except grief and except heartache and longing. Have you returned to see how much you have broken me? Or how much you have torn me limb to limb with your existence? Please – Sirius, I beg you on the basis on the years we had shared and the beds we fell upon, that you leave me alone. Never come to my window again, never look at me and never let me see you. I beg that from you, one last thing that you can take away from me is yourself.”

He pauses and wipes his eyes.

“The world is cruel I know,” he finishes the letter. “But you are the cruelest for having looked upon me after all these years.”

He places the note on his windowsill and when he wakes, it is gone.

-

_“Bloody hell, look at him, he’s bloody huge, James!” Sirius yelled in surprise. “Wasn’t he born like two days ago?”_

_“Sirius, he was born three months ago.” Remus covered Harry’s ears. “And don’t swear in front of him, or you’ll have Lily chopping your unmentionables off.”_

_“She’s threatened it ten times already.” Sirius grumbled. Remus looked at Harry in his arms and something heartbreakingly fatherly washes over him as the child grizzled quietly, kicking his legs up. He laid Harry back in the crib and faced Sirius, running light fingers over his cheek as colour bloomed into it. Remus feels alive suddenly, like he were happy and that life would snatch nothing away – that hope blazed and lived within them, and he kisses Sirius slowly. It was not sexual or sad, but rather a light touch of lips and Sirius presses closer. When he pulls away, Remus’ cheeks are flushed and his eyes are bright, his hands never leaving Sirius’ face – they were the same height and fit so perfectly together._

_“What’s this bloody display of affection?” Sirius puffed a weak laugh, his heart was bursting. “That’s my forte, bastard, how dare you!”_

_“I want to live with you.” Remus murmurs. “To give you the whole damn world, to read to you.”_

_“Remus –“_

_“To me, you’re the pages of every book. Your eyes open in my own heart when you wake and your heartbeat is threaded into my veins. When you bleed and brush it off, there’s a cut on me that stings. Everything about you from your nose, your hands, the way you talk in Cockney to hide that you’re from the Black family, from how you copy my homework to how you bloody lick my face as Padfoot.” Remus’ breath whistles, holding Harry made him feel loved and loving, he wants to be a father, brother, lover and he wants Sirius so much, oh he is so lucky. “I love you so much, for these five years and even longer, even the moment I first saw you I loved you as a friend. I never want to hate you, Sirius. I want to live with you until I die.”_

_“You bleeding Rochester.” Sirius’ voice was shaky and threaded. He puts out his long arms and clasps Remus to him and the other bends willingly into him, resting a head on his shoulder. “I love you too, you blimmin’ romantic. I swear that.”_

_He pauses._

_“And we shan’t ever be parted nevermore.”_

_“The heck?” James snorted, coming in. “I’m all for open mindedness and everything but could we not expose Harry to you queers from day fucking one?”_

_“Told you he was born yesterday, Lupin.” Sirius let him go, the only remnant of their conversation being the slight flush on his cheeks._

_-_

It’s nearly midnight and Remus appreciates that Harry is talented at Quidditch and that he is kind and that he is obedient. But still, he groans mentally in the staffroom, he would appreciate some good essay writing skill even further. Harry, extremely quick with practical spells and supremely efficient now with both Boggarts and Dementors had just turned in an essay that was written in one long paragraph, half of it copied loosely from the textbook whilst the other half was pure imagination. He sighed and picked up Ron’s, which was pretty much worse, with atrocious handwriting, half the words being misspelled and the other half illegible. He shudders.

“Why these two don’t take lessons from Hermione I don’t know.” Remus sighed, laying down his quill and red ink. “They could honestly afford to.”

“It’s complicated.” McGonagall smiles, facing him. “Both of them either want to make up their work or copy entirely, and Hermione prefers teaching or helping and abhors copying.”

“Smart girl, really. I don’t advocate copying. Especially from the textbook.” He side-eyes half the pile of marking. “I think she’s figured out. That…”

“That?” McGonagall’s eyes widened and her lined cheeks took on a light blush. “No, it isn’t possible. There is no chance for such a thing to happen, Remus. You’re being paranoid.”

“Huh?” He frowned. “Well, after Snape set that werewolf essay, I’m perfectly sure she knows, Professor. It’s far from impossible, especially to such a perceptive girl.”

“Oh –“ McGonagall breathed, as guiltily as someone like her could look. “Oh. I thought you meant… your… relation with Mr. Black.”

“Ah.” Remus’ gaze slid to the floor. “An old relationship, Professor. I hardly know why you have to refer to it.”

“Yes, I apologize.” McGonagall laid a hand over his, and her spectacles seemed to pierce him. “Long ago, Remus. But it was strong, was it not?”

“Yes.” he muttered. “Strong is the word for it.”

He rises, brushing aside her apology and smiling. Always bloody smiling. He leaves the staffroom and into the closest bathroom, locking the door behind him. He stared at himself in the mirror, lean face, dark eyes, mussed hair that greyed at the roots. Was this what that strong love had done for him? Was this all he had taken from it, crows feet and grey eyes? No, he thinks. No – there were other moments. When they made love, Sirius’s light eyes and his sweat stained chest – his lithe bow of a body, his hardness pressing against his own. Strange sex toys purchased from Knockturn Alley and the feeling of a hot tongue where tongues shouldn’t be. How Sirius would go under the table and suck him off and he had to keep a straight face, and how Sirius would come home after an Order mission and fuck him against the table, the corrosive wood and the moans – Remus gasped, and finds that he is aroused, painfully, his erection tenting his pants. He can’t do this.

He breathes sharply and runs down the stairs, throwing open the bathroom door, and Apparating to Hogsmeade the moment he was out of the grounds, the Dementors chilling his bones. He slips into the frigidity of the Hogs Head, nods at Aberforth and goes to a random man at the counter, his social status betrayed by the rings of eyeliner around his eyes and the gaudy lipstick on his face. He goes up to the man and circles his chest with his arms, resting his cheek on the man’s bright shirt.

“How much for a quick one?” He whispers. “Just ten minutes, just to get me off. Give us a discount, won’t you mate?”

He wishes he were drunk, at least that would explain away the erection.

“Ain’t you an ‘Ogwarts professor?” The young man turned around, his hair was long and dark but his eyes were coal black. “What you doin’ this sorta shit for?”

“How much?” Remus hissed.

“Two Galleons.”

“Done.” He muttered, drawing the man up to one of the private rooms upstairs. The prostitute followed, slightly bemused that it was the man leading him up the stairs instead of himself. He strips himself along with Remus and falls into the greying bed, stroking his cock.

“You’re pretty damn fit, for one of them Professors.” The sex worker drawled. “You wanna top or bottom, mate?”

“I’ll take you.” Remus whispers. “Lie down.”

He guides himself inside the prostitute’s lubricated hole and thrusts slowly, spots flickering before his eyes. The man’s accent reminded him of Sirius, his build was Sirius and this was so fucking unfair, he thinks. So unfair that it’s Sirius’ face that appeared before him and he viciously opens his eyes to see the prostitute’s flushed face, his half lidded eyes. Remus is close, his hips jerked erratically – and he looks again at the man’s face that was so unlike Sirius.

“Turn away.” He begs. “Turn your face to the side.”

The whore complies, and Remus kisses him hard, before emptying within the man, his stomach flaring in heart and pressure and his bones limp as he feels the other man climax as well with a grunt. He pulls out and lays beside the man, an arm thrown over him.

“We shan’t ever be parted nevermore,” he whispers.

“Don’t get to joking, Sir. That’s two Galleons.”

-

_“Fuck you!” Sirius screams, and a plate crashes at Remus’ feet. That was two Galleons, he counts mentally. “Fuck you, Remus – everything comes down to you, oh poor fucking me, I’m a werewolf and the fucking world hates me.”_

_“Shut up, bastard.” Remus’ voice is guttural and his eyes flashed. “I know you! I heard you telling James that you think I’m a spy! A spy for Voldemort, Sirius! A fucking… traitor!”_

_Remus throws a glass and it hits Sirius on the shoulder, making the man cry out._

_“Can you idiots fucking stop!” James voice was high and panicked, so uncharacteristic of him, so terrible to hear. “Stop it before I put up a barrier!”_

_“SHUT IT, JAMES!” Sirius roared, his eyes dangerous. “There’s no fucking barrier between us, is there? You and I, connected for life – huh, Remus? How dare you accuse me of shit that serious? How dare you think I would –“_

_“Because I know you, Sirius, and your fucking mouth runs years ahea-“_

_“I’LL FUCKING –“ Sirius rushes at Remus and knocks him into the kitchen counter, his tailbone almost cracked against the marble. Remus hefted back and finds that Sirius was surprisingly light, he slams him to the floor and straddles him._

_“If you’re a traitor,” Sirius spits, “I’ll fucking kill you, bastard. Because I can’t let happiness interfere in lives –“_

_He grabs Remus’ collar and chokes him, the other man swinging his fist to punch him._

_“James!” Lily rushes in, afraid to intrude upon something so personal until it sounded like they were killing each other. “James, stop them!”_

_“Lily, get out before this bastard hits you –“ Remus spits, his eyes grey and almost translucent, the wolf reflected plainly on his face. “He seems to be damned free with his fists today –“_

_“James!” Lily shrieked, but her husband’s fingers were numb and his glasses were fogged. Remus and Sirius never fought – never once, and never nothing more than a two minute quarrel. James had killed dozens of Death Eaters and he could handle situations better than anyone. But his heart was far too big and this was breaking it._

_“You sell my friends ou-“_

_“I FUCKING LOVE YOU, WHY WOULD I SELL YOU OUT!” Remus’s voice was hysterical, immune to the tears that were leaking down Sirius’ face. He hardened his palm and hit Sirius across the face, as blood dripped down his shirt from his own nosebleed. “Bastard –“_

_“PROTEGO!” Lily screamed, her wand raised. Harry was wailing from upstairs – the boy always had a good sense of premonition, but he was for the first time in his life ignored as Remus and Sirius flew apart. Sirius crumpled on the floor, as James walked toward him, laying a tentative hand on his shoulder. Remus looked at his friends – how nobody walked toward him, how his best friend and his lover were on one side of the room, tears on their faces – and he was alone on this side. He pushes himself up, glass cut paths into his palms, and he walked out slowly. Lily followed him, her face white._

_“You shouldn’t have intruded.” Remus’ voice was tight and strained. It shook. “You shouldn’t have intruded, Lily.”_

_“You’d have killed each other.” Lily took Remus by the shoulders and looks up at him. “They trust you. They trust you, Remus. Nerves are just on edge, Sirius is stressed, what with being the Secre-“_

_“But James went to him –“ Remus finds his face crumpling and his eyes burning. He feels so bloody childish saying these words. “James went to him. Sirius is supposed to come to me – Lily – he and I –“_

_“He loves you.” Lily’s last words to Remus were strangely divine, but Remus didn’t notice that as he bent into her embrace and cried and cried._

_It was the last time he saw Sirius until the day he looked up at his window._

_-_

Remus hates himself.

\- - - - -  - - -

_Remus hates himself._

_\- - - - - - -- -- - - - - - --_

“Hey.” a voice murmurs. “Hey, wake up.”

“Hnnh?” Remus rose onto his elbows and realizes that it is dark and there is someone inside his room. His breathing quickens, he knows that voice and he knows that smell – of earth after the rain, of the blood in his own veins. He lays back and shut his eyes tight – he would ignore this, this monster until he leaves through where he came from, until he goes back into the Hell he rose from.

“I tried to follow your letter.” Sirius murmured, laying his entire body on top of Remus’. “I tried so damn hard to follow your letter, Remus – but I have to see you once. At least once.”

“Fuck you.” Remus tries to rise up, but Sirius pins his bare, broad shoulders to the pillow with his hands, and nudges his abdomen with his hardness. Remus feels violated, but blood rushes downward at the familiar touch and smell, at the large hands that pinned him and at the angle of that unshaven jaw in the moonlight. “Fuck you – don’t you fucking dare.”

His voice scrapes against his throat.

“Don’t touch me!” He groans, but Sirius keeps kissing his neck, his collarbone, and Remus wants this so much that he is almost breaking into pieces. He wishes he would just come right there, but his cock only strains against the thread of his trousers. He breathes in so harshly that the breath almost cuts his throat – and pushes Sirius, and the other man is laying on the floor, he looks so gaunt and thin and Remus wants to hug him and love him and feed him.

“Remus,” his voice begged, but Remus grabbed his shoulder and pushed him out of the office door.

His eyes were crazed, Sirius notes.

“I am no fuck-toy for you.” Remus snarls, and shuts the door so painfully that it rattles. He waits until Sirius transforms back and pads away that he snakes his hand down to his cock and frees it from his trousers. He strokes himself furiously, his hand braced against the wall, and comes quicker than he had ever come before, and wipes his hand on a cloth. He wishes he were dead.

_“Hey, Remus.” they were back to twenty and the leaves were falling from the large oak tree onto Remus’ cheeks and he looked so pale and peaceful that it scared Sirius. “Want to get married?”_

_“Sure, Sirius. England wouldn’t accept homosexuality even if it kicks it in the balls.” Remus grinned, and opened his eyes. “I appreciate the sentiment, however.”_

_“This is so… bloody weird, Remus.” Sirius laughed. “That I’m so in love that my heart hurts. That I wish that you and I were married, that I want to wake up next to your stupid ass every morning and that I want to take a shit while you take a shower, and have lunch with James in the afternoon. I want to marry you, Remus – so damn much.”_

_“You can love me without marrying me.” Remus sits up, and kisses Sirius’ jaw. “You can love me without even knowing me.”_

_“Let’s get a tattoo.” Sirius begs. “Or a ring. I want to stay by you until we die, you soppy bastard and I want something to commemorate it.”_

_“What about this?” He kisses Sirius softly on the lips. “Every morning of every day. So that you can’t lose it like a ring and so it won’t hurt like a tattoo. What do you think, Sirius?”_

_“I think it’s like you.” Sirius murmurs. “Flawless.”_

_\- - - - - - - -- - - - - - -_

“You left me for so long.” Remus’ eyes were downcast. They were sitting in a train from Hogwarts station to Remus’ home in Ireland, Buckbeak flying high above them. “I hurt so much, Sirius.”

“But look at us now.” Sirius smiles, and it makes Remus shiver. “Look at us now.”

“What’s there to look at?” Remus scoffs. They were old men now, in their thirties. Twelve long, longing years. There were hollows in Sirius’ cheeks and crows feet beside Remus’ eyes, but they were otherwise somewhat young. But Remus refuses to believe it, he refuses to hope. He has known Sirius for so long, and it always leads to Remus hoping and Sirius crushing that hope, it always leads to some sort of tears or blood, or worse – two dead friends.

“I love you.” Sirius moved his feet so they touched Remus’ feet. “Every day in that stinking cell, I sat there and just loved you. Thought of you so much.”

“You think I haven’t thought of you?” Remus doesn’t mention the prostitute in Hogsmeade, or the ones in Dublin, Leeds, Aberdeen, Oxford. Maybe Sirius already knew.

“Remus –“ Sirius stands up in the swaying train, he looks painfully thin. “Remus, I want you to hold me now. Properly. Like I’m your lover, not some brother.”

“I couldn’t have done that earlier, could I?” Remus asks, rising up, and holding Sirius to him, familiar hollows molding into each other. “Hermione already found out I’m a werewolf, I don’t need her having an aneurysm knowing that her Professor wanted to fuck the most wanted murderer in town.”

“Psh, you’re the only person who can say Professor and sex in the same sentence. That’s why I love you.” Sirius’ grin fades. “It why I’ve always loved you.”

“Don’t you dare guilt trip me, idiot.” Remus murmured, but he kisses Sirius anyway, tasting sweat and sadness. It was like they were seventeen again, after a drunken game of Truth or Dare. His hair shifts up to fist in Sirius’ hair, touch his sharp jaw, kiss and kiss and kiss his swollen lips and jutting chin, bump into his straight nose. The train shifts and they fall onto one of the seats, laughing, and they don’t know how but they ended up sitting with Remus lying on Sirius’ lap and Sirius stroking his hair, greying at the roots.

“We shall not be parted.” Sirius swears, and his faked Cockney is gone, and he is aristocratic and grey eyed and loving, letting down that final barrier in between them.

“I swear to you, Remus, we shan’t ever be parted again.”

**Author's Note:**

> pls pls do leave comments, i never published a harry potter thing and im nervous af. thank u!


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